


Protection Spell

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s06e08 Tabula Rasa, Gen, Healing, Inner Strength, Magic, Resilience, memories of past abuse, past character death (Tara's mother), sad but not too sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than anything, Tara wants to speak to her mother tonight, as she throws her clothes into cardboard boxes, as she coaxes Miss Kitty Fantastico into her second-hand carrier, as she calls the number on the For Rent ad she’s been keeping in her women’s studies textbook since she realized what the small pink flowers she’d been wearing were. She doesn’t have anything to ask anymore. She just wants to tell her: <i>I have the chance you never had. I understand why you couldn’t, now more than ever, but I’m doing what you were never able to do.</i></p><p>Runner up, best gen fic, at the <a href="http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/round31/winners31.html">Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards</a> round 31.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection Spell

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently Miss Kitty Fantastico died in a tragic incident involving Dawn and a crossbow, but we never learn exactly when that happened, and I figured Tara could have used some feline comfort throughout season six, so I've decided Miss Kitty isn't dead yet.

For months after her family left her standing in the Magic Box, her suspicions about their story of her supposed demon nature confirmed, Tara Maclay toyed with the notion of trying to talk to her mother. She wanted to ask her: why did you stay?

She never did. The magicks seemed too dark, for one thing, too close to upsetting the balance of life and death. But more importantly, Tara already knew her mother’s many answers. That you stay because people depend on you to look after them. That after a while it all starts to feel normal. That it’s possible to love someone even when they hurt you.

That when someone has been playing with your mind, through magic or the simpler cruelty of family stories, you might not even have words for the way it just feels _off_ somehow. At least until you learn what it is they’ve been doing. And her mother never got that knowledge, not the way Tara did this afternoon.

More than anything, Tara wants to speak to her mother tonight, as she throws her clothes into cardboard boxes, as she coaxes Miss Kitty Fantastico into her second-hand carrier, as she calls the number on the _For Rent_ ad she’s been keeping in her women’s studies textbook since she realized what the small pink flowers she’d been wearing were. She doesn’t have anything to ask anymore. She just wants to tell her: _I have the chance you never had. I understand why you couldn’t, now more than ever, but I’m doing what you were never able to do._

But Tara isn’t going to try. More dark magic is the last thing she wants right now.

* * *

“Protection spell, huh?” Anya asks, eyeing the circular gold amulet and collection of herbs Tara has laid out on the Magic Box counter. Tara nods. She almost tries to speak, to explain, but she can feel the consonants preparing to catch on her tongue, and anyway, she’s done trying to justify this. She’s doing what she needs to do.

Anya begins ringing up the items. “For Buffy’s house, or…?” Tara shakes her head. Outside, an impatient honk tells her to hurry back to the taxi she’s left idling in front of the shop, everything she owns, minus some clothing and a few magic supplies she hadn’t wanted to weed out of Willow’s things, thrown haphazardly in boxes and shopping bags in the back seat.

Tara makes a mental note to tip the driver well. Then, she makes a mental note not to worry any more about money until the morning, because between the taxi, and her Magic Box purchases, and the rent check she’s about to sign, she’s starting to worry a lot. She’ll have to swing by the financial aid office again tomorrow, and do her best to explain to them once again that her family hasn’t sent her money in over a year now.

“That’ll be $56.38!” says Anya brightly, and Tara feels the knot of worry tighten. She counts out her bills and hands them over. Over the ding of the cash register, Anya says, “That’s probably the best thing to do. Go, I mean. Let me tell you, I used to wreak vengeance over much more trivial things than what she did to you. In fact, if you’re looking for some vengeance I could probably hook you up?”

“Thanks, Anya, but I’m good.” Tara is surprised at the strength in her voice. Usually she appreciates Anya’s bluntness, but she just can’t hear all this right now. She tries to shoot Anya a somewhat genuine smile as she takes her bag and receipt.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” says Anya, smiling, Tara can only assume, at a sale well made. Tara heads towards the door. As she grabs onto the handle, Anya says, “Oh, and Tara? I know that doesn’t look like the hardest spell, but it can take a lot out of you. I did it for me and Xander’s place, and afterwards I didn’t even have enough energy to have a proper orgasm. I’m just saying. No offense, but you’re not as powerful as Willow. Which, I mean, is maybe a good thing…” She trails off.

“T-thanks, Anya,” Tara says again, heart beating faster at the mention of Willow’s name. She does her best to smile once more, then pulls open the door and heads over to the waiting taxi.

* * *

Tara knows how tiring this spell can be, she thinks, laying out her purchases on a deep red cloth on the kitchen counter of her new apartment. She knows because she’s done it once before.

It was a month after her mother’s death, and she’d come home from school to find her room a mess—books with their covers pulled off, pictures ripped from frames, drawers open, their contents spilling across the floor. Tara can still remember the pounding of blood in her ears as she’d checked all her hiding places—the loose floorboard in the far corner, the hollow doll on her nightstand, the lining of her winter jacket hanging in the closet. She shudders to think of it now, the cold dread in her chest when she realized her mother’s magic book was missing from inside her pillow, when she turned to find her brother Donny holding up the book and smirking, promising to tell their father.

She remembers laying out a cloth just like this one, lighting candles and a bundle of rosemary and whispering words into the walls of her room, feeling her flimsy amulet growing hot in her hand as she cast the spell. _Let none enter who would cause me harm_.

She remembers, too, her father’s footsteps on the stairs, and her panic, her sudden realization that a spell would make everything even worse. What a terrible feeling, to quickly blow out the candles and push everything under her bed, to take a hairpin from her jewelry box and stab at the amulet until it shattered on the floor. To open the bedroom door and face him, head bowed, magic in her veins and her mind but not in her home.

Miss Kitty Fantastico tangles herself around Tara’s legs, meowing in what Tara hopes is a simple desire for company and not accusatory distress at being relocated from a sprawling suburban house to a studio apartment. Tara bends down and picks the cat up, cradling her in one arm as she arranges the candles. She wonders if this spell will ward off the cockroaches she worries are lurking in the cupboards.

Tara has always liked doing spells in the kitchen. It reminds her of her mother showing her which spices could be used for more than cooking, teaching Tara to feel connected to the flowers on the windowsill, the two of them safe in the knowledge that this was a women’s space which her father and brother would rarely enter.

Tara sets Miss Kitty down again and begins to light the candles. She burns the tip of her rosemary bundle and waves it over the amulet, closing her eyes, reaching inside her mind. She’s worried it will be hard to find the strength she needs tonight, since she’s used so much already, since she isn’t used to doing spells without Willow’s presence, but to Tara’s surprise, she feels it with a jolt.

 _There are many different kinds of magic_ , she remembers her mother explaining, _but this is one of the most potent, because it comes from resilience._ Tara smiles, recalling her younger self’s questions as she and her mother sat across from each other on the kitchen floor. _It’s when no matter how many times you fall, you always get back up again. Try to tap into that whenever you can, and even if people harm you, you’ll always be OK in the end. I promise._

* * *

When Tara has whispered the words into each of her walls three times, she hangs the amulet, still hot to the touch, on the inside of her front door. Then she rummages through her boxes, finds the framed picture of her and her mother, and puts it up above the stove. She makes her bed. She puts on her starry pajama pants, the ones Willow likes so much, and gets under the covers. Miss Kitty jumps up beside her, and Tara strokes her absently, smiling at the feel of purring beneath her fingers.

Tara knows it is going to hurt again soon, probably more than she can imagine, but right now she feels a certain pride in the knowledge of what she can do. She can leave, even when it makes her cry, even when it means leaving the woman she loves, risking her only real friendships, signing away money she barely has.

Tara picks up Miss Kitty Fantastico and hugs her close to her chest. No matter what happens now, Tara knows she can take care of herself. Her mind is her own.


End file.
